When he is done, he says ‘let go.’ The one holding my throat lets go last. We are both breathing hard, but he is laughing, I am not. I feel myself collapse to the tile floor, and smack the back of my head on the floor. Everything is black, but I am not dead or unconscious, because I can still hear them laughing.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The first one said, she looked like she smelled a fart.
“That’s fucked up.” Another one said. She drank her alcohol flavored ice. “What was that supposed to be?”
“Just a dream of mine for the last 10 years or so.” I responded.
They said nothing.
I feel the right side of my mouth to join the left to form a genuine smile. I suppress my laughter. “Oh, you meant role playing. My bad.”
The third friend changed the subject to whatever suburbanites were gossiping about. All the depraved things that happened in other places, just not in good places where good people lived.
